


Take Me To Church

by Clonesy



Series: Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (Not actually set in a high school - there's just a high school turf war that centres around the au), Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Power Bottom Clarke, Power Play, Smut, service top Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clonesy/pseuds/Clonesy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're young and in love, you take every moment you can to be together.<br/>When you're young and in love and stuck in the middle of a turf war, sometimes the only moment you get is 3am on a Tuesday.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me To Church

 

Lexa shoves her hands back in her pockets and hisses at the cold. She realises that maybe – just perhaps – she should’ve called Clarke earlier.

Like, at some time that isn’t three in the morning.

Then again, surprise visits to your girlfriend in the middle of the night are hardly a surprise if you give her notice. They are, however, most likely less cold and less dangerous; because this is _definitely_ not Lexa’s side of town and her face is _definitely_ not difficult to miss, what with the whole ‘leader of the Polis High gang’ thing.

Lexa then reminds herself that it’s 3am and the street is empty, so it’s not as if there’s any inherent threat. That’s a positive. Still, she flips up her hood and tries to bury herself in it, pulling the material as low down as possible. As suspicious as she must look, she finds it’s comforting to know that she at least doesn’t look like herself… or, that’s the hope anyway.

It’s still freezing. That’s not a positive. Lexa is sure that she’s going to end up with frostbite or something if it continues this way. In hindsight, a warmer jacket and non-ripped jeans may have also been a wise choice, but alas sensibility gave way to aesthetic. Although, said aesthetic is now the reason her fingertips are beginning to numb.

Fortunately, there’s a small clatter from the second storey of Clarke’s house then a few creaks as a window thrusts open. Clarke leans out of it, audibly gasps at the cold, and then mutters an expletive under her breath. Lexa feels a little bad, but she finds smirk playing her lips.

“Good morning, Clarke.” she chimes.

As Clarke grumbles a reply, Lexa makes quick work of scaling a drain pipe. Despite the icy burn of the weather, Lexa’s hands are deft and determined and she escalates to Clarke’s window easily before clambering into her room. She sighs in relief at the warmth as soon as it hits.

Clarke pulls the window shut behind her and takes a moment to compose herself.

She’s a hot mess, to be quite honest: all sleep tousled hair and smudged makeup. She’s wearing a shirt of Lexa’s that she totally ‘forgot’ to give back and boy-shorts with little raccoons on them. One hand drags through her hair and the other gently massages her neck, her raised arms not only showing off her softly toned biceps but also making her shirt ride up a little, as to reveal her adorable little tummy. Lexa feels personally attacked that her girlfriend can wake up and look this good, but it had taken her a small millennium to find her outfit for this little adventure. An outfit that Clarke, because she’s still half asleep, has yet to even glance at.

“How do you do that?” Lexa asks, incredulous.

Clarke yawns. “Do what?”

“Look incredible even though you have just woken up.”

Clarke doesn’t humour a reply, but her mouth twitches in vaguely smile like fashion at the backhanded compliment. She rubs at her eyes and then glances at Lexa. “You look pretty hot yourself, commander.”

“It took me forty-five minutes to look like this.” Lexa mumbles indignantly, much to Clarke’s amusement.

Lexa actually blushes, because wow, hearing herself say it definitely emphasises how incredibly _extra_ she is. She glances down, suddenly embarrassed. Clarke notices and she takes Lexa by the hand in a reassuring gesture. 

“You look amazing, okay? Don’t be embarrassed.” She says softly, planting a chaste kiss to Lexa’s cheek. Lexa hums, because okay, Clarke is just too cute. Exhausted and probably unhappy about being awake and yet, she’s still ready to dispel any doubts. God, Lexa wants to worship her sometimes.

That’s a lie.

Lexa wants to worship her _constantly._  

Clarke leads them to her bed, and they cuddle up. Lexa kicks off her shoes and discards her jacket, not needing it for warmth because Clarke is basically the human equivalent of a radiator. Clarke has no disagreement to this arrangement even if she’s forgoing sleep, because Lexa literally just travelled the whole city to see her. While, of course, she’s tired, she can’t deny that it’s really fucking adorable...and Lexa is super cuddly. Any miniscule remainder of complaint that lingers is quickly dissipated by Lexa’s hand on her jaw and the deep kiss that follows.

Whilst it’s not exactly an unusual thing for them to kiss in greeting, Clarke is almost surprised at its intensity. In her hazy headspace, she'd forgotten that Lexa kisses stronger the more days they’ve been apart. At five days, Lexa’s giving it her all, should she have forgotten any groove of Clarke’s lips in that period of time. Safe to say, she hasn’t. Clarke’s lips are as mapped as the freckles that dot her skin after a day in the sun, as mapped as the gentle flecks of hazel in her steely blue irises.

Then, as always, Lexa boops their noses.

As always, Clarkes loves it.

“Mm, good morning indeed.” She purrs, and her voice must be an octave deeper than it was before, catching in her throat in a gravelly, seductive tone. Lexa’s stomach drops like a stone, and something throbs between her legs.

Clarke, it would seem, has also found something awoken within her following the kiss. A taste of Lexa and, suddenly, sleep is falling off her agenda for this early morning rendezvous. With little hesitation, she’s quick to capture Lexa’s lips in her own again.

Clarke hooks her leg over Lexa, straddling her hips, and starts to kiss her fervently. She understands she hasn’t asked Lexa what she’s doing here, or why she decided to show up at 3am –of all the times she could have chosen- but honestly, is it really that important?

_Answer: Not at the moment, no._

Lexa doesn’t seem particularly bothered either. In fact, from the gentle hums and moans she gives as Clarke kisses up and down her jawline, Clarke can imagine Lexa is far from bothered.

And, of course, with Clarke already in far less clothing than Lexa, it’s only natural that Lexa is the first to start removing articles. She leans forward and Clarke tugs off her shirt, revealing a black lace bra and collarbones that beg to be bruised.

Obviously, Clarke indulges herself.

Or – she tries to.

She gets to kiss and lick and suck at Lexa’s skin, but when she finally stops drawing it out and bites down, evoking a heavy moan from Lexa, Lexa is quick to suddenly freeze and sit up-right.

Her expression reads one of terror.

“Shit.” She hisses. “Where’s your mom?”

Clarke’s mouth hangs dumbly for a second as she mourns the loss of contact.

“Oh, she’s out.” She answers simply, hasty to get back to that _super important_ thing they were just doing, but typically Lexa is curious – or, more accurately, suspicious – and holds Clarke back with a gentle hand to the shoulder. Clarke can’t blame her, explanations are sort of important in the lives that they live.

Lexa queries “Out where?”

“On a date” Clarke answers.

“With who?”

“You mean whom?”

“Answer the question, Clarke.”

Maybe avoiding the topic like that is childish, but it pulls a teasing grin to Clarke’s expression. Lexa rolls her eyes. Sexually frustrated or not, she’s not letting this conversation end until she knows.

Clarke looks reluctant for a second, then grumbles “Kane. Vice principal from my school.”

“I see…” Lexa acknowledges. She then has the audacity to smirk. “She’s not home yet.”

Clarke sighs, “I know. I’m trying to not think about that.”

“Your mother is an adult, I’m sure she and Kane are-“

Clarke grabs her pillow and hits Lexa with it, effectively silencing her. She waits for Lexa to recover, which she does with a fluttering of her eyelids and an expression of mock offence. Clarke challenges it with a mock threat.

 “Alexandra Woods, you dare say one more about what my mom and Kane may or may not be doing,” Clarke makes a face of disgust, as if she can’t believe what she’s implying (which, honestly, she can’t, because _ew, gross)_ , “and I will personally end you.”

As mock threats go, it’s pretty good. Clarke has her face up close to Lexa’s, eyes all thunderous and her voice is a perfect mix of deep, semi-whispered seriousness and exaggerated inflection. Were professional snarking a sport, Clarke would be a national champion.

If Lexa is quite honest, she finds the whole thing kind of arousing. Whilst the threat itself is _ridiculous_ , it’s the dominant side in Clarke that it brings out that has Lexa wanting to push Clarke down and take her right there. Lexa doesn’t even want to think about the way Clarke said her name, her _full_ name no less, and how much she wants to hear Clarke say it again, but just a little breathier, a little more desperate. She wants to hear Clarke tell her where to touch her, and demand and beg for more. No, she doesn’t want to think about that at all…and yet, here she is.

Lexa bites down on her lip.

Clarke’s smiling at her victoriously.

“So, you’re not going to talk about Kane and my mom, okay?”

Lexa cannot control herself long enough to answer, surging forward to kiss Clarke. She kisses hungrily, tangling her fingers in Clarke’s hair, and taking everything she is willing to offer. Clarke reciprocates, grabbing at Lexa’s waist. She slips her tongue into Lexa’s mouth and lets her natural dominance take a hold, pushing Lexa back down in an attempt to straddle her properly once more. However, Lexa is as quick as she is strong, and with very little effort she manages to flip their positions. Clarke’s back hits the mattress with a soft grunt. Lexa is now the one who straddles Clarke and she takes a second to look at her and to fawn over the girl she’s fallen in love with.

Clarke’s chest is rising and falling with her heavy breathing. Her eyes are wide, surprised but growing darker by the second with what Lexa can only guess is arousal. She cups Clarke’s face with one of her hands, and strokes the pad of her thumb across Clarke’s cheek. Clarke is silent, enamoured. 

Lexa leans down to Clarke’s ear.

“Tell me what you want.” She whispers, and her breath is hot and teasing on Clarke’s neck, “Tell me what you want me to do to you. I’ll do it all.”

Clarke feels arousal pool in her stomach. The ache coming from her lower regions is becoming unbearable and her breath hitches when she feels the ghost of Lexa’s lips against her neck.

It’s too much.

It’s _not enough._

Thick with need, Clarke’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to Lexa’s hushed sweet nothings.

“I want you to fuck me.” She says, simply.

And then, “I want you to kiss, and mark, and make me yours.”

Lexa shifts, to stare into Clarke’s eyes. There’s a exchanging of power and consent as Clarke confirms her command with a slow nod. Lexa takes that consent for the precious thing that it is and she marvels at Clarke for just another moment before she lifts up the bottom of Clarke’s shirt and then takes it off with a swift, practised motion.

She plans to worship Clarke the way she deserves.

Lexa eyes Clarke’s collar bones and her bare breasts appreciatively. On an impulse, she runs her thumb across one of Clarke’s nipples and feels it harden under her touch; Clarke’s breathing hitches.

Lexa’s pretty sure she knows where to start now, but this is about what Clarke wants. She keeps her thumb playfully running back and forward over the perk nub, and asks with a distinctive husk to her voice, “Where should I start?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, and replies “I think you know the answer to that, Alexandra.”

She does.

_Oh_ , how she does.

Lexa leans down and takes Clarke’s breast in her mouth. She runs her tongue across the nipple and teases it with a few strokes before gently grazing her teeth across it, watching Clarke’s reaction with a careful gaze. She repeats it a few times, teasing with her teeth and soothing with gentle laps of her tongue, working to no particular rhythm. She finds enjoyment in watching Clarke’s reaction, from the tautness in her jaw to the short guttural gasps, and the slight arching of her back. Lexa finds something intoxicating in knowing it’s all of her doing.

So when Clarke growls “kiss me” in that dangerously sinful voice of her, Lexa complies wordlessly, swiftly, so she can make Clarke moan and sigh and mumble things against her lips. Clarke kisses as if she’s the one on top, biting and nipping at Lexa’s bottom lip and Lexa doesn’t mind, because this is about Clarke and what she wants and what she needs. Of course, Lexa is mindful to be teasing in her own right, using a free hand to massage the breast she had been attached to prior and pulling away from Clarke’s kisses just long enough for Clarke to lose her dominance (if only for a few seconds) before crashing back down, hungry and insatiable. Clarke’s moan of approval is enough to give Lexa a gratuitous wealth of confidence.

Which is a catalyst for Lexa to move on, to trail kisses on Clarke’s jaw in the same way Clarke did to her earlier. She doesn’t linger long, though, because Lexa knows Clarke’s sensitivities better than that. She knows what Clarke wants without her having to say. With a few ghosting impressions of her lips, Lexa moves down to Clarke’s neck.  She kisses and runs her tongue along Clarke’s skin, relishing in its burning warmth.  Clarke hums, and Lexa smiles.

Lexa takes little time in building it up; her teeth grate Clarke’s skin before finding the pulse point. Clarke has only seconds to prepare as Lexa sinks her teeth in and bites down hard. Clarke hisses out Lexa’s name among a few obscenities and grips at the sheets. The pain is pure sin, unadulterated, and Clarke can only feel herself grow wetter when Lexa laves her tongue over the bite to help sooth the sting before continuing to add to the bruising. Lexa is fire and ice, overpowering and stripping Clarke of her dominance. Then gentle and analytical, going easy and allowing Clarke to direct. She bites and kisses and licks in accordance to Clarke’s reactions, biting harder when Clarke whimpers, only absolve her with gently peppered kisses.

When Lexa stops for a second to look at Clarke and check if she’s okay, she realises the extent of her enthusiasm.  Clarke’s neck is marked in blue and purple, and burns to the touch, but Clarke seems pleased, perhaps even turned on further by the way Lexa has claimed her in such a way.  Lexa leans down and kisses Clarke again.

She begins to trail her hand down Clarke’s body. Her deft fingers brush along sensitive skin, leaving an electrifying sensation in their wake. She brushes her hand over Clarke’s hip, then her thigh, getting closer to where she knows Clarke wants her – where Clarke _needs_ her.

“Jesus, Lex.” Clarke gasps against Lexa’s lips, “You’re such a tease.”

Lexa takes that as a challenge, and moves her hand to Clarke’s cunt without a moment’s hesitation. She runs her fingers languidly through Clarke’s slick folds and smiles darkly at the shuddering breath Clarke takes. She does it once, twice, three times, each earning a similar reaction, each making Clarke come a little undone. Lexa circles her clit, feeling the bundle of nerves stiffen against her touch and she knows – she _knows_ – Clarke is losing her grip.

“What would you like me to do?” Lexa purrs, still stroking Clarke’s clit, still reeling from every whimper, and every jerking breath it evokes. She just wants Clarke to feel good and she wants to _know_ that she feels good.

Clarke, fortunately, is very vocal.

“Alexandra,” she rasps desperately, “just fuck me.”

The husk of Clarke’s arousal laden voice makes Lexa melt and she does not – _cannot_ – keep Clarke waiting any longer. She takes the finger on Clarke’s clit and one other, and pushes them into Clarke with a testing slowness, watching delightedly as Clarke arches into the movement.

Lexa takes up a lazy pace, fucking Clarke gently but with intent. Clarke grinds against Lexa, hoping for more movement, more friction, more _anything_ because honestly, Lexa fingers curling inside her is too good a feeling to receive at such a dragging pace.

It’s agony.

Lexa indulges Clarke a little. She adds a third finger, easing it carefully to slide in and out of Clarke with the other two and it’s nothing but satisfying. Clarke moans deeply as Lexa’s fingers fill her, stretch her out and though Lexa goes slow, so painfully _fucking_ slow, she makes up for it on skill. Though, Lexa can tell Clarke is impatient, with the clenching muscles of her thighs and the white knuckle grip she has on the bedsheets. Lexa can’t help but gratify her, even if it means abandoning the slow build up.

Lexa picks up the speed. Clarke’s low moans turn to sharp inhales and whimpering curses tied with one consistency: Lexa’s name. Clarke’s hands are in her hair, and she’s mumbling encouragements and Lexa, desperate to hear Clarke’s pleasure, can only continue to satiate her, to keep fucking her for all she’s worth.

Which is everything. Clarke is worth _everything_.

“Fuck! Right there.” Clarke cries, as Lexa curls her fingers in a particular way, “Keep it right there.”

Lexa obliges, smiling sensually as she begins to feel Clarke tense up.

“Right there?” Lexa queries with dark playfulness. Were Clarke able to reply, she would, but with Lexa hitting that sensitive spot every time, her reaction is reduced to a strangled noise and a shaky nod of the head.

Clarke feels fire pooling in her abdomen, an imminent warning of what is so dangerously close. Lexa feels it in the quiver of Clarke’s muscles and sees it in the hazy look of her eyes. She’s so close, almost toppling but not quite. Lexa reverts back to two fingers and uses her thumb to circle Clarke’s clit again. At the added sensation, Clarke throws her head back, moaning Lexa’s name loudly into the room. Lexa keeps it up, stimulating her clit and fucking her at the same time, working to the rhythm of their grinding hips.

Lexa thrusts her fingers a few more times, strokes Clarke’s clit until her hand starts to cramp. Clarke whimpers turn more frantic, her breath comes in stutters.

“Lexa.” She chokes, “I’m gonna-“

Lexa keeps going, fucking Clarke relentlessly.

“I’m gonna-“

Clarke tenses, her entire body going stiff. Her walls tighten around Lexa’s fingers and everything fades to white noise as her climax begins to ripple through her body. Her hips jerk a few times, and she comes over Lexa’s hand as Lexa continues to slide in and out of her slowly, coaxing her through the orgasm. For the first time, Clarke is silent, with nothing but ragged breath to fill the quiet.

Her climax is intense, and when it dies down, the pleasure still tingling but not enough to leave her quite so static, she finds herself dazed and exhausted. Her body goes limp and she lies there, in a sleepy state of pure bliss.  Lexa extracts herself and wipes her hand on the sheets besides her. She gives Clarke a final peck on the mouth before rolling to the side, so they can cuddle up face-to-face.

In a post sex-haze, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and body languid and sleepy, Lexa has never seen Clarke look so beautiful. Not even after the last time they had sex because Clarke seems to grow more ethereal after every encounter.

Clarke smiles softly at Lexa and Lexa smiles back in return.

“So…how was it?” Lexa asks, feeling self-conscious of her performance despite its evident success.

Clarke hums. She takes a second to find her wording.

“It was perfect.” She starts, noting the way Lexa’s eyes light up at the praise, “You’re amazing.”

She gives Lexa another kiss, because why not? She needs no reason to. When they separate, there’s a need in Lexa’s eyes and a notable lack of focus in her gaze. Lexa’s own arousal is anything but subtle.

Clarke knows she cannot take if she is not willing to give.

And oh, she is willing to give.          

She gives Lexa a predatory smirk.

“Give me a couple minutes, and then it’s your turn.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, shout out to Silent-Wordsmith for Beta-ing this fic - Idk what I'd do without you! 
> 
> If you have any feedback or any suggestions for other ideas within this universe, feel free to leave a comment!


End file.
